A Tiger’s stripes…

The strangest thing about the whole Tiger Woods business is that he’s sick, has some kind of psychological disorder, and is in need of therapy.

Watching him making his much-vaunted statement, puffy face, glazy eyes as though he was dosed to the gunnels on valium, I got the impression that he was robotically mouthing the words while thinking, “what the hell am I doing here?”

The whole business was so stage-managed, so rehearsed, right down to dramatically clasping his heart while looking straight at the camera, that it came across as absolutely insincere.

That’s my take at a separation of a few thousand kilometres and I have been amazed at the amount of commentators who have rushed into cyber print to declare their belief in, and admiration of, Tiger’s confessional.

I was completely underwhelmed and, perhaps because I am a journalist, somewhat angered that the only time he showed any real emotion was when he was laying into the media – as though the members of the fourth estate were responsible for the deep bunker he has found himself in.

Okay, he did say he’s sorry, to a whole range of parties (unlike some who speak of having to deal with issues without actually apologising) and admitted to selfishness just hours after Ernie Els had accused him of this character flaw.

But I’m still not sure why he has gone down the route of admitting a sexual addiction and to be in need of therapy when any number of studies have shown that most red-blooded men spend a good deal of their time thinking and, perhaps, engaging in the act copulation.

Obviously Tiger needs to apologise and make good – but to his wife Elin not to the rest of us.

Having spent my working life covering the on-field deeds of top sportsmen, and keeping discreetly quiet about the dalliances witnessed off it, my impression is that Woods, having been pretty much robbed of his throbbing, explorative teenage years, was of a mind to show the others that not only was he the most prolific winner on the tour but also the most potent fornicator.

As they say, it’s a man thing. That he allowed it to get out of hand (although the sad spouse will tell you that once is as bad as 14) was probably a factor of his fame, his wealth and the untouchable status afforded him by golf officials and 50-something golf writers who treated him as though he was some kind of deity.

Another hard to believe aspect of the sordid situation is that his caddie, the belligerent Steve Williams, and his management company and handlers, IMG, knew nothing of what was going on. Not bloody likely!

Tiger to my mind, and he has admitted as much, simply came to believe that the rules did not apply to him, but please spare me all this fallen angel stuff.